Easily Led Astray: Time Away from the Desk

 My intention was to finish the draft for an essay on aging and reading for BookWomen, but then my husband tempted me with a drive to a charming river town where there is one of his favorite nurseries. 

"Great," I said without hesitation and off we went. 

I'll write tomorrow I told myself.

And then the next day just as I was ready to head up to the garret for writing time, that husband of mine enticed me with a another drive, this time to one of our favorite small towns in Wisconsin where, of course, there was another nursery. "We can have lunch at the cafe with the good pie."

I was ready in a flash.

Yes, I am easily led astray, and what a lovely day we had. Lake Pepin was sparkling and the pie (blackberry-raspberry was delicious) and I even found a new journal in one of the sweet little shops. Bruce, of course, bought more plants for the garden, but you'll hear no complaining from me. 

On our way home we turned onto a country road unfamiliar to us and were rewarded by seeing trillium in the woods and farms with calves and colts, newly discovering their world, and even a llama still with his shaggy winter coat. Almost home we saw young people in caps and gowns walking towards Macalester College for their graduation ceremony. I sent them blessings for a rich and meaningful life. 

Once home I considered briefly doing some writing, but instead grabbed the book I am currently reading and my wide-brimmed hat and stretched out on the patio sectional. The day was too glorious and the garden too enchanting to only view from a window.

I'll write tomorrow, I told myself, and I will. It's not that I dislike writing. In fact, I cherish my hours of writing, but some days are not writing days. Some days are play days. No regrets. 

How grateful I am to have the luxury of being led astray. 

An Invitation
How good are you at being led astray? I would love to know. 

Be Still and Know That I am God.

On Saturdays this month of December my husband 
and I have left our urban home and driven to small towns and on country roads, taking a different direction each week. The change of scenery, the change of pace, has been life-giving for us. 

Unlike the days of moving methodically to complete various Christmas tasks, the day has no agenda, no specific destination. We roam. We talk some, but not lots, and are content with each other's presence.

I know I need the spaciousness of the harvested fields, of the expanse where sky meets land somewhere in the distance. I need the simplicity of the farmhouses and the faded red of the barns. The leafless branches sugared with snow and the fields lightly powdered in white against the unbroken grey sky. It was a one hawk, one eagle day. Few cars. Fewer people, except for the two farmers we saw urging a calf, who had broken free, back where she belonged. 

I suppose we could have turned on the radio to Christmas music, but  silence was enough. I replayed the chants from the Wednesday night Advent service in my head, even humming just a bit. I smiled seeing Christmas decorations on front lawns--some more tasteful than others, in my judging mind, but all reminders of the love we have for this time of year. 

"Ok, to head home?" my husband asks, and yes, I am ready. The drive has fulfilled its purpose. I feel balanced and calm once again.

I feel ready to meet my promise to myself: To enter the coming days in stillness, with silence. To create a sanctuary in my heart, big enough for all who need it. 

I whisper to myself one of my favorite lines from scripture, Psalm 46: 10.

            Be still and know that I am God. 

And I move deeper into that calm and peace.

            Be still and know that I am God.
            Be still and know that I am.
            Be still and know.
            Be still.
            Be.
            Be still.
            Be still and know.
            Be still and know that I am.
            Be still and know that I am God.
            Amen.

An Invitation
What do you need for the coming days? I would love to know. 

        

 

Taking Care of Myself: Tuesday's Reflection

When we lived on Sweetwater Farm in Ohio, one of my favorite activities was to get in the car and explore country roads. I drove past Amish farms and waved to children playing softball or to mother's hanging wash on clotheslines. I headed towards the Amish farmstead where a young boy sold me yet another jar of honey, along with vegetables and flowers. 



When we lived in Madison, WI, I followed back roads to  neighboring small towns. One town, Spring Green, is home to one of my favorite bookstores, Arcadia Books, and another, Mt Horeb, has a small cafe with the best quiche ever. Made with real cream, for sure. In the fall I made sharp right or left hand turns when I saw signs saying "Pumpkins For Sale." 


In Ohio we lived in the country ourselves and even though we lived in an urban area in Madison, it didn't take long to be out in the country. As much as I love our life in St Paul, I miss getting in the Jeep and going who knows where. 

One day this summer Bruce and I, along with grandson Peter, went to the Belwin Conservancy near Afton, MN, a surprisingly quick and easy 30 minute drive. We went there to see a herd of buffalo moved to the restored prairie there for a summer residency. I was stunned by the beauty of the area and how quickly we got there. 





I tucked away the thought, "I could come here and walk the trails." 

And that's what I did last week. 


I googled directions, put on my walking shoes, emptied a few essentials from my purse into a backpack, grabbed a bottle of water, and my "Girls on Safari" hat, and off I went. In thirty minutes I was there and on a trail, where I walked for 40 minutes or so and then in another 30 minutes home, congratulating myself for my spontaneity.





And for discovering a way I could meet a need, something I long for--not everyday, but sometimes. 











Bruce and I love to wander together. In fact, the next day we drove down along the Mississippi on the Wisconsin side and then home on the Minnesota side, stopping at Frontenac State Park with its glorious views of the river. But I know I need to give myself those roaming times on my own, too. Not often, but now and then. Now I know where to go. In the winter I will take my snowshoes. 




I felt renewed, restored. Awake. Uncluttered and unmuddled. Grateful and blessed. 

I felt more like myself. 

An Invitation
What landscape calls to your inner self, and how can you give yourself that gift? I would love to know.